


Impossible

by MissCricket



Series: 30 Stories of Carver Hawke [1]
Category: Dragon Age (Video Games), Dragon Age II, Dragon Age: Origins, Dragon Age: Origins - Awakening
Genre: Alternate Universe, F/M, Ferelden, Fluff and Angst, Grey Wardens
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-04-01
Updated: 2016-04-01
Packaged: 2018-05-30 13:12:43
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,654
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/6425380
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/MissCricket/pseuds/MissCricket
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>The Queen likes to get regular updates from the Wardens of Amaranthine, especially from the handsome young Warden recruit, Carver Hawke.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Impossible

Anora was not the kind of queen to leave the running of her Kingdom to her councilors, or her advisors. She was a hands on queen, who kept in touch with many of the Arls and Banns, and thus kept tabs on their lands.

In particular she kept a close eye on the Grey Wardens, now rulers of the Arling of Amaranthine. Warden Commander Cousland often sent her reports, delivered by one of her Grey Wardens.

In this she was grateful that Cousland was such a political animal. The woman knew about the politics of Nobility, raised as a Teyrn’s daughter. She knew what Anora needed in her reports, and she knew who to send. Or rather...who not to send.

She knew that sending Warden Howe, son of the late Arl Howe, would be a dangerous faux pax. Her father’s alliance with that degenerate noble was still a commonly known fact, and so private meetings with the son, no matter his alliances, was not an option. Anora had been surprised when Cousland recruited him, despite testified threats to kill her. Still the woman had known what she was doing. Howe was now one of the senior, and best, Fereldan Grey Wardens, and Cousland’s second in command.

Oghren was also not a possibility.

Anora had met him during the Blight...briefly. When the regular reports set up, Cousland had sent him once, probably out of amusement than anything else. Anora had politely banned him from the palace thereafter.

Cousland’s Dalish mage had never come to deliver reports, nor had the Apostate she’d recruited from the grasp of the Templars, although Anora knew that the apostate had fled subsequently.

Sigrun came occasionally, with dry humour and as many questions as she had answers for the Queen. It was refreshing to be treated with such equanimity. But Sigrun was not the only Warden to lose any deference quickly.

He’d been a recruit when she first met him, on a routine visit to the prosperous Arling, tall and broad shouldered, but with the look of someone who’d lost a lot of weight in a short period of time.

Then a few months later he was the one to turn up at the palace in the iconic silver and blue armour, greatsword strapped to his back, tall and strong with sharp blue eyes and a granite jaw.

As a woman, she enjoyed to look at him, she didn’t shy away from admitting that, and she also found herself curious about him also.

“So you are from Kirkwall, Warden Hawke?”

“I was recruited from near there Your Majesty.” The young man informed her, shaking his head slightly, “Actually I was born in Amaranthine. But grew up in Lothering.”

“Ah, you fled North when the Blight struck?”

“Yeah,” he sighed, “After Ostagar, it was get out or die. Many died.” A shadow crossed his face, and Anora catalogued that look for later. He’d lost someone, that much was obvious, Perhaps many someones. “My mother hailed from Kirkwall. So we returned, to see if we could find shelter with her family.”

“And did you?”

“In a manner of speaking,” his smile was wry, the curl of his lips lighting up his eyes a little.

Every time he visited she received a new tidbit about him, a small part of the portrait of Warden Carver Hawke.

“What did your family do in Kirkwall?”

“My brother and I worked with a smuggling group. My uncle had to pay off some debts, and part of it was getting us into the city to work it off.”

His uncle Gamlen was often remarked on in his stories, always with a slightly exasperated look.

“And before that?”

“We were farmers in Lothering, my family. But my mother’s kin...they were noble. She insisted that my brother and sister and I learn manners and other courtly trifles. Bloody waste of time if you ask me...no offense Your Majesty.”

“None taken,” She smiled, hiding it behind her goblet.

Garrett Hawke was also a regular fixture in his tales, as was his raggedy band of friends. That Carver missed his brother wasn’t said.

It didn’t need to be.

“So there’s Varric, staring cross eyed down the point of this pirate’s cutlass,” Carver’s eyes were bright as he leaned forward, large hands gesturing to illustrate the tale. Anora was flushed with laughter, and it had been so long since she’d laughed like this, “And he says, ‘You know, Bianca’s going to be very jealous.’ And the pirate is bloody confused right? He looks over at his mates, and that’s when Garrett cracked the bottle over his head. He was fine in the end, got some gold, Anders patched him up, but Varric loved the story. The next night he told it to a full tavern….and let me tell you it was a very different version of it.”

Sometimes their conversations were quieter, more serious.

“You were at Ostagar,”

“Yes.”

“I-” she didn’t know what to say, which was unusual. Her normal polished political statement wouldn’t be right here, “I’m sorry.”

“Not your fault,”

“Nor yours either,” Anora sighed, “The repercussions of Ostagar will be felt for a long time I fear.”

“It’s good not to forget…” Carver shook his head, “But what’s done is done. Your father’s a Warden now. It’s justice in a way.”

It had been justice...and also sensible. Cousland had known Loghain was still popular and widely respected, despite his recent failures. She’d also known the Warden’s numbers were too low.

It had been the right decision, but Anora knew how much it had cost the Warden Commander.

Alistair had not been seen in Ferelden since.

Whispers placed him in taverns across the Free Marches.

And the sadness had yet to leave Cousland’s eyes. Anora didn’t think it ever would.

“Have you met my father?”

“Once.”

Anora’s lips quirked up.

“DId you punch him in the face, Carver?”

There was silence for a long moment before a sheepish answer.

“Kinda, yeah.”

The young Hawke was also surprisingly well versed on the Mage and Templar problems, something that was building to a head, even here in Ferelden. He also had an intimate knowledge of magical abilities and a life with magic. He was open with these thoughts, trusting in a way.

She suspected that Garrett, the brother making a fortune for himself in Kirkwall, might have been born a mage. Or Bethany, the twin Carver could barely bring up.

Some things were still far too painful for either of them.

Bethany.

Cailan.

Still, Anora found herself happier than she could ever remember being, and found herself looking forward to the sounds of horses riding up to the palace, and the horns signalling the Grey Warden envoys.

~*~

“Your Majesty,” Arl Wulff insisted, dark eyes on her face, expression determined, “I’m sorry but there is some concern in the Bannorn.”

“In regards to what, Arl Wulff?” She asked, back ramrod straight on her throne, “Please enlighten me.”

“Your lack of an heir, Your Majesty.” The Arl pressed on, looking sympathetic, “With your ascension secure, the only question about your throne is line of succession,”

“You wish me to remarry.”

“King Cailan is years dead, Your Majesty, Maker rest his soul. What we need now is security.”

Anora fought down a surge of fear, but her training kept the emotion from her face.

Too soon! Her mind cried.

Her heart provided the image of coal black hair, gleaming in the firelight, and sharp blue eyes, warm as they looked at her. Really looked at her..

No, he was impossible. Despite his Amell breeding, Carver Hawke was a Grey Warden. And she’d fought so hard to keep Alistair from the throne, citing the lack of Warden fertility. If she married Carver…

“I will consider it.” She said.

She supposed it had to happen. She’d been Queen regnant for years. Carver had been coming to deliver reports for almost three years. It had had to end sometime.

So it was almost a relief, a painful relief, when Sigrun came to report, telling her that the young Warden was in the Free Marches, investigating something.

~*~

“Kirkwall has a Champion,”

“Mmm?” Anora looked up from her paperwork, “A champion you say?”

Champions in the Free Marches were almost as powerful as a ruler, and with the death of Dumar.

“Fellow by the name of Hawke.”

“Carver?” Even saying his name made the air want to rush from her lungs.

“What?” Her advisor shook his head, “No, Garrett Hawke.”

Carver’s brother.

“Ah,” she considered, biting her lip.

“Your Majesty?” She looked up again, frowning as her advisor hesitated.

“Go on,”

“It would...it would be an advantageous match...I hear the Champion is eligible.”

The air rushed from her lungs again and her chest constricted.

The wrong Hawke.

“There was no special man or woman for you in Kirkwall?”

“No,” She remembered Carver’s self depricating laugh, “Anyone who wanted me, just wanted to get near my brother. Everyone wants Garrett.”

The words rang in her memory.

“We should support his ascension to the Viscounthood of Kirkwall,” her voice sounded distant even in her own ears, “But I do not wish a Champion husband. Find out...if he has any family. Perhaps a match can be made there.”

~*~

Weeks later Anora heard the trumpets sound and watched as Carver rode into the courtyard, handsome man, who could only be his brother, riding in behind him.

He seemed even handsomer than she remembered, and for a long moment she felt her heart break.

The doors swung open and he stepped into the room.

His blue eyes met hers and she saw everything she was feeling reflected back at her.

Everything.

The love, the longing, the desire…

...the despair.

Slowly he bowed.

“Your Majesty.”

Slowly she curtseyed.

“Grey Warden.”

Silence and then his voice quietly said,

“May I present my brother, Garrett Hawke….Champion of Kirkwall.”


End file.
